Watching
by Rexalot
Summary: She's watching you again.


She's watching you again. You're sitting in Glee, side by side and you can feel it. That electric prickling on the back of your neck that you've come to associate with her eyes on you. Your eyes flicker to your peripherals; sure enough you catch the blue flash as she looks away, caught staring again.

You're not sure why she does it, but it's been going on for weeks now without either of you mentioning it. Its been bothering you, a lot. You sneak a glance at her; she's blushing. She always does that, blushes after you catch her looking at you.

You wonder what she's thinking, you always do. She is one of the hardest people to read, and you consider yourself a bit of an expert.

You decide you're finally going to ask her about it; but later, when there aren't so many people around, and she isn't being completely adorable. The latter might actually never happen, you think absently as she twines your fingers together and brightens considerably when someone mentions something she can relate to ducks.

Watching her, you feel a dopey grin stretch across your face, which you instantly replace with a scowl and look away (because really, you're _Santana_ and you just don't do dopey grins).

You peer at her again, and maybe she's onto something with this staring thing. Watching her sends butterflies rippling through the pit of your stomach; her face is all lit up with an enormous smile, blue eyes twinkling as she watches some stupid disco video Mr. Schue has set up.

When Glee is over you lean over and whisper in her ear, "Come to my house? My parents are gone all week..." making sure you're breath is hot against her ear and neck, and then you lean back. Another blush grows across her cheeks, and she looks over at you, nodding; her eyes catching yours and the darkening blue makes things low in the pit of your stomach clench.

When you finally get to your house after a torturously long ride of her running her fingers along your bared thigh, asking about her watching you is the last thing on your mind.

You're turning around from shutting and locking the front door when she's suddenly there, pinning you against the door and holding your arms at the wrist above your head. You feel yourself groan at the full body contact after a day of teasing touches and wonder why she isn't kissing you yet.

Your breath catches in your throat when you look up at her; her eyes are almost navy, so much darker than their usual sky blue. There is a predatory gleam that wasn't there a minute ago, and it's making your pulse race and your temperature skyrocket.

Her eyes remind you of your earlier musings, so you ask her, "Britt," your voice is raspy and you almost don't recognize yourself. "Why are you always watching me in class and Glee and stuff?"

She runs a hand down your side and you shiver, but the motion is cut off by a throaty moan when she pushes her thigh between yours and it feels _so damn good._

She leans toward you and your eyes drop to her lips, while wetting yours at the same time. But your mouth is not her target you realize, as you feel her hot breath ghosting across your ear.

"San…" she whispers, her voice husky and it shoots chills down your spine. "I'm always watching you because I'm planning what I'm going to do to you."

Your mouth goes dry at her words, and you can't help but grind down on her thigh; your head falling forward onto her shoulder.

"Jesus, Britt" is all you manage to mumble, and you can feel her grin as her lips draw a path of fire across your neck.

"Do you wanna know what I was planning today?" You feel her voice more than hear it, a low vibration in her chest and said across your pulse point. Your breath catches again and you don't trust your voice, so you just nod.

When she whispers it in your ear you bite back a moan and grind down on her leg again. Your uniform is too hot and constricting, and you want it off _now_. When you voice the thought to her, you feel the throaty chuckle and it just amplifies the feeling.

"My room," you manage to say when she sucks on your pulse point, and you're almost positive you're not going to last through what she has planned.

The next day you're sitting in Glee when that electric prickling on the back of your neck occurs. Your eyes flash over to hers, and when you see her dark eyes you feel yourself flush and there's suddenly an insistent throbbing _down there_.

When you shift in your seat and look away, you just know there's a triumphant grin etched across her face and you can almost see the twinkle in her eyes.

Maybe, you think, maybe you don't mind her watching you as much as you thought it did.


End file.
